Page 88 of The Summer We Lie

"And you didn't think to ask me first?" His voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it that makes my stomach flip.

His hand comes to rest on my hip—just his palm against my bare skin—but the touch sends electricity racing through my entire body. My breath catches in my throat.

"I—I didn't want to bother you at work." The words come out smaller than I intended, almost breathless.

His soft laugh against my ear makes me tremble, goosebumps erupting across my shoulders and down my arms. "Yet here you are... in my office without the plug."

The way he says it—that quiet, dangerous tone—makes heat pool low in my belly even as anxiety twists there too.

"I'm sorry," I say again, meaning it, and he steps back. The sudden absence of his warmth makes me relax for just a second before his hand comes down on my ass hard enough that the crack echoes in the quiet office.

"Shit!" The word bursts out of me before I can stop it, and then I'm biting my lip hard because I didn't mean to be so loud. The sting spreads across my skin in waves, sharp and hot.

"Good girls get rewarded and bad girls get punished," he says, his voice still maddeningly calm, and then his hand connects again with the other cheek. I gasp, my fingers gripping the edge of the drafting table.

I hear rustling behind me—the distinct sound of leather sliding through fabric loops—and my heart starts hammering as I realize he's taking off his belt. Oh god.

"You remember your safe word?" he asks, and I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. He gathers my hair in his fist, pulling my head back gently but firmly until I can see his face. His dark eyes are intense, searching mine. "Do you?"

"Yes, sir," I manage to say, my voice shaky.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and then the belt comes down across my ass.

It's like fire blooming across my skin—so different from his hand, sharper, more intense. I fall forward instinctively, my cheek pressing against the cool surface of the drafting table. The sound of the belt cutting through the air and then the loud crack as it connects echoes through the room, impossibly loud. The pain spreads in radiating waves, almost overwhelming. My mind can't process the conflicting signals—I'm dripping wet, so turned on I can barely think straight, but the pain is so much, bordering on too much.

The next strike comes and tears spring to my eyes before I can stop them, spilling over and falling onto the architectural drawings beneath my face, making small dark spots on the paper.

"Just say the word and it stops," he reminds me, his voice steady, and then the belt connects again.

"Cherry" is right there on the tip of my tongue, the word forming in my mind, but then I hear him set the belt down on the table with a soft thud. A second later, he's dropping to his knees behind me. His hands come to my ass—gentle now, soothing—his palms cool against the heated, tender skin. Then his lips, soft kisses pressed to the sore spots. His tongue follows, tracing the lines where the belt landed, and the sensation is so tender after the pain that fresh tears spring to my eyes for an entirely different reason.

"You took your punishment like a good fucking girl," he says against my skin, his breath warm as he continues kissing and licking, turning the pain into something else entirely—something that makes my core clench with need.

When he's done worshipping my abused skin, he stands back up and turns me to face him. His hands are gentle as they cup my face, and he kisses my tears away—first one cheek, then the other, his lips soft against my damp skin.

"My good girl," he says between kisses, the possessiveness in his voice making my heart race. "Time to be rewarded."

Then he's picking me up easily, his hands under my thighs, and sitting me on the edge of his drafting table. The cool surface against my sore ass makes me gasp, but before I can process it, he's kneeling again. He throws my legs over his shoulders and buries his face between my thighs, devouring my pussy like a man starved.

"Holy shit, Dominic," I moan, my hands flying to his hair as pleasure crashes through me in waves. The orgasm is already building, coming on strong and fast. Then he slides his fingers inside me—two at first, then three—curling them just right, and fuck.

"Yes, right there," I gasp. It's so close now, the pressure building and building. He knows exactly what I need, exactly how to touch me, where to press, how to move his tongue.

"Oh god, Dominic, I'm… FUCK!" The scream tears out of me when the orgasm crashes into me like a tidal wave, so intense that my entire body convulses. My thighs clamp around his head, my back arching off the table, and it goes on and on, wave after wave of pleasure so intense it's almost painful. Dom doesn't stop—his fingers keep moving, his tongue keeps working until I'm pulling on his hair desperately, needing him to come up now because it's too much, I can't take anymore. "Please," I beg, my voice breaking.

He stands, towering over me, and leans down to kiss me like a man possessed—hungry, demanding, consuming. I taste myself on his tongue, and the dirtiness of it sends another jolt of arousal through my over sensitized body.

"What do you want, baby?" he asks when he breaks away from the kiss, his voice rough. Then he's lifting my shirt and bra together, pushing them up and over my breasts, and sucking one nipple into his mouth.

The sensation makes me cry out. "Please fuck me. I need you," I say, the words tumbling out desperately.

He growls against my nipple—an actual growl that I feel vibrate through my chest—and then he's standing back up, his hands making quick work of freeing his cock from his pants. He lifts my legs over his forearms, spreading me wide, and positions himself. One hand braces on the table beside me while the other grabs my sore ass, making me whimper as he slides into me.

He enters slowly at first, letting me feel every inch as he stretches and fills me, but when he bottoms out—when I can feel him so deep I swear I can taste him—the gentle, controlled Dom disappears entirely. He pounds into me with everything he has, the force of it making the heavy drafting table rock and slide across the floor until it starts banging rhythmically against the wall. Then he's kissing me again, and everything is wild—his kiss, his fucking, the way his fingers dig into my ass. He's lost all control, and I'm loving every single second of it.

"Fuck, baby. I didn't want to leave you this morning. I can't get enough of you," he groans against my lips, his voice strained.

"Me either," I moan, my nails digging into his shoulders through his expensive shirt. "I love your cock."